


college 101: how to fall for your roommate

by perfectlystill



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't expect to find her roommate there, sitting at a desk, head bent, wires spread out in front of her -- and on the other desk, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	college 101: how to fall for your roommate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



Clarke lugs her suitcase up the stairs -- they've got a matted, grey covering on them, like the administration is afraid kids will get drunk and need the extra traction. The elevator is broken, because it's move-in day, and that's just how these things go. Her parents are by the car, trying to figure out how they want to get her mini-fridge up to the third floor. Her dad keeps saying he'll just carry the damn thing, but her mom keeps telling him that he _can't_ because he hurt his back two weeks ago. Clarke had gotten tired of it, grabbed her giant suitcase and told them she'd be back soon. 

The doors leading to each floor are propped open, and when she gets to her floor, most of the doors to the rooms are propped open too, girls and families inside, taking down the bunked beds, setting up futons, arranging furniture and putting clothes in drawers. When she gets to her room, the door is shut. She twists the handle, but it's locked, so Clarke pulls the key out of her front pocket. 

She doesn't expect to find her roommate there, sitting at a desk, head bent, wires spread out in front of her -- and on the other desk, too. 

"Hey," Clarke says. "You must be Raven."

Raven looks up, drops her pliers and scrambles to her feet. She wipes her hands on her jeans -- a hole in the left knee -- and extends one. "Yours truly. And you must be Clarke."

Clarke shakes her hand; she has a firm grip. "Nice to officially meet you."

"You too. I moved in a few days ago, hope it's okay I took this side of the room." She smiles, happy and wide and a little guarded as she points to the right. She's put up pictures, mostly of her and a boy with floppy brown hair. There's one of a woman, hair half-pulled back, cigarette dangling from her fingers, smiling the same way Raven is smiling right now. 

"That's fine."

Raven takes a few steps backwards, pats the top of a dresser. "This one is yours, and," she turns, "oh, sorry, I can move those off your desk. I'm trying to fix a television and DVD set I found in a dumpster."

"You found them in a dumpster?" Clarke knits her eyebrows together. "Why were you looking in a dumpster?"

"I don't know." Raven shrugs. "I was bored the other night. You don't have a TV, do you?"

"No. I didn't bring one." She had thought about it before deciding it would be distracting and take up space she wouldn't have. 

"Cool. Do you need help bringing stuff up? Or is that it?" Raven leans over to look at the suitcase behind Clarke.

"Actually, yeah." Clarke frowns. "Help would be great. The elevator's broken."

Raven blinks, and Clarke thinks she's about to suggest she fix the elevator before she grabs a coat hanging off one of the bedposts. "Lead the way."

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke is good at college. 

Or, more accurately, Clarke is good at the academic parts of college: She aced her first biology exam, aced her first drawing assignment, and is pretty sure she's the smartest person in student government. 

She's not so good at the other parts of college: She has not been to a party, has not gotten drunk, and is pretty sure that if freshmen voted on members of student government like other classes do, she would not be in student government at all. 

When she calls Wells, he assures her that she's fun -- "Remember that time we got drunk on champagne and you kept insisting the last presidential election had been rigged? You sounded like a conspiracy theorist." "I'm not crazy." "No, but you're fun." He tells her she just needs to talk to people and that everyone is in the same position. Everyone is making new friends. 

Clarke tells him that his general, cliched advice does not make her feel better.

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke's coloring in a diagram of a cell, which she thinks is a bit of a juvenile assignment considering she did this exact same thing in high school biology, but it finally gives her a reason to break out her colored pencils. She presses her mouth together and shades in the cell wall, a vibrant green.

"Hey," Raven says. She drops her backpack by her bed. "Want to get dinner?"

Clarke looks at the clock. It's not even 5. "A little early, don't you think?"

"This kid in my engineering seminar said it's chicken nugget day." 

"Really?" Clarke raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to eat dinner at 4:30 if it's not chicken nugget day."

"Really. I think he's scared of me, too, so I don't think he'd lie." Raven smirks. "Come on, maybe there won't even be a line."

 

 

There's a chill in the air, and the leaves on the trees are starting to orange. The sun is in Clarke's eyes as they pass by the library. She looks at Raven, the arc of her ponytail and the sharp yet relaxed set of her jaw. Clarke hasn't had much time, has thrown herself into schoolwork and activities -- student government, biology club, pre-med club, mock trial -- "Why are you doing mock trail?" Raven had asked. "It'll look good on an application," Clarke responded. "To med school?" "Yes. I'll stand out." -- but with the memory of a colored pencil in hand and the way the sun bends around Raven, Clarke thinks she needs to make more time for drawing. 

When Raven squints into the sun, Clarke smiles. "Wait," she starts. "You said this kid is scared of you?"

"What? You don't think I'm scary?"

Clarke bites her lip and looks at the quirk of Raven's eyebrow, the playful twist of her mouth. "Not really." 

"Well, that's disappointing." Raven swings her keys and ID holder in the air. "I'll have to work on that."

"Okay, you work on that." Clarke turns to walk along the path but Raven keeps going straight over the grass, a direct route to the cafeteria. Clarke backtracks to follow.

"I think you're kind of scary," Raven says.

"Me?" Clarke frowns. "Why?"

"You get really intense about things and your face goes all blank and serious." Raven narrows her eyes and pulls her face together in, what Clarke assumes, is supposed to be an imitation of her. "At least half the floor thinks you're intimidating."

"Did you tell them I'm not?" Clarke asks. They walk up the steps to the building and the automatic doors slide open.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

Raven shrugs, pulling her ID out of its holder. "Who cares? It's a good thing."

Clarke holds open the door to the cafeteria and lets Raven walk in first. "How?"

"They'll hold the elevator open for you instead of jabbing repeatedly at the close button." The lady behind the desk scans Raven's ID, and she thanks her before turning to look at Clarke. "You always take the stairs, don't you?"

Clarke gets her ID scanned. "Thanks," she says to the worker, smiling. She looks at Raven and rolls her eyes. "Most of the time."

Raven grins. "Thought so."

 

 

 

 

 

They've hung a giant banner across the front of the administrative building: Welcome Families! There's no other decoration on it and it looks plain, almost like an afterthought. There's not much on the schedule either: performances of "The Important of Being Ernest" all weekend (the theater kids in Clarke's freshmen seminar spent ten minutes complaining about it because it really reduces the time they have to show their families around campus), Saturday tailgating and football game, and Saturday night jeopardy. 

"We have to do all of this," her dad says, looking at the flyer the school had sent to the house. "Do they sell foam fingers at the games?"

Clarke shrugs. "I don't know."

"Why don't you know?" He raises an eyebrow, looks at her the same way he did when she told him she and Wells were going to prom together _as friends_.

"I've never gone to one." 

"But you love football."

"I know." She absolutely does not roll her eyes. "Anyway, Raven doesn't, so."

"What?" Raven looks up from her textbook, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She doesn't wear it down often, but Clarke likes when she does. It's shiny and curls around her collarbones. "Don't drag me into this like you ever asked me to go to a game. I went to watch Finn play all the time in high school."

"See, she likes football," Clarke's dad says.

"She didn't say that," Clarke's mom responds, looking up from the biology textbook she's reading because she knows the editor. "She said she's gone to games before."

Clarke thinks, before this trip is over, her parents are going to find a time to sit her down and ask her if she's happy and if she's enjoying the Full College Experience, as though there's a checklist with items she should be marking off. She likes arguing with the cute and annoying history TA, especially when he gives her a few extra points on an assignment. She likes going to the library on Saturday nights when hardly anyone is around, locking herself in a study room and getting ahead, taking meticulous notes for next week's lessons. She likes planning stress relieving activities for finals week with student government. And she has Raven -- they take turns making sure the other one eats dinner depending on whether Raven's tinkering with something or Clarke's spent the last few hours in lab or has lost herself sketching. They order takeout Sunday afternoons, Raven sometimes nurses a hangover, and they watch whatever terrible movie is playing on the TV Raven fixed.

Clarke had realized, while talking to Wells, that college doesn't need to be _Legally Blonde_ (she and Raven must have watched it on at least three separate Sundays by now. It's on a lot.) to be what she wants or needs. 

"Do you want to come to the game with us, Raven?" Clarke's dad asks. He looks at his watch. "Tailgating starts in ten minutes."

Raven presses her mouth together, thumbs at the pages of her book. "I don't want to intrude."

"Oh, please. I need someone if I'm going to deal with these two screaming for three hours," Clarke's mom says. "You'd be saving me.

Raven looks at Clarke, still hesitant. Clarke smiles small. "You should come."

 

 

Raven spends most of the game talking to her mom, and Clarke spends most of it yelling -- at the other team, at the players, at the referees -- but she notices. She notices them sharing nachos and laughing about something.

It makes her catch Raven's eye and smile down at her from where she's standing on the bench to see better. When Raven smiles back it's bright, wide and open.

Clarke feels this heavy in her chest, the importance of it.

She hugs Raven when they win the game in overtime, Raven and her mom standing with them now. She hugs Raven and she doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say, but Raven's body is warm against the wind and her hair is still down, blowing around.

Clarke thinks she should be embarrassed, voice hoarse from screaming, but she finds that she isn't, that Raven -- who does spend the next few days making fun of her for it, for her wild eyes and the way she flailed her arms around -- doesn't judge her for it. When Clarke asks, "Was it really that bad?" Raven shakes her head.

"No. Not bad. Kind of cute, actually."

 

 

 

 

 

Raven keeps telling her Finn is going to visit. At the beginning of the semester her voice is sure and her smile crinkles around her eyes. As time goes on, and as Finn doesn't visit -- at first Raven tells her the reasons: he forgot about an essay he has to write, someone in his group can only work on their presentation on Saturday, he's sick -- Raven's smile becomes skeptical, and then it disappears when she mentions it.

Clarke returns from a trip to Wells' college to Raven's wall, empty of all the picture but the one of her mother. There's still a picture of her and Finn stuck to the corkboard on the back of her desk, but that's it.

"What happened?" Clarke asks, unbuttoning her jacket.

Raven looks at the wall, the off-white grey paint and the emptiness. "He visited," she says, and then she looks back at the television.

Clarke doesn't ask again, but instead of unpacking she hops up on Raven's bed and sits next to her, their shoulders brushing. During the first commercial, Raven tells Clarke to move so she can get under the sheets, too.

She doesn't wrap her arm around Raven, lean her head against Raven's shoulder and tell her she's sorry or that it's going to be okay. It's not that Clarke doesn't want to do those things, it's that she knows Raven well enough not to.

 

 

 

 

 

It's the first time Clarke's been on Greek row and she's a little overwhelmed. She swears the sidewalk is vibrating.

When she stops and looks at the toilet paper decorating a tree, she spots a kid already puking in one of the bushes. His friends, Clarke thinks they must be his friends, at least, are standing off to the side, chatting, not bothering to see if he's okay. Clarke curls her fingers into her coat. "We could go back, order a pizza and study for finals," Clarke offers.

Raven looks at her. She's only wearing a light jacket and Clarke knows she must be freezing, but she'd said it would be warm inside and she didn't want to worry about carrying a bulky coat around with her. "Come on, Clarke. You started studying a month ago, and I'm practically a genius." Clarke's mouth twists up and Raven grabs her hand. "You're going to go to this party, and you're going to have fun."

"You can't promise that," Clarke says. She squeezes Raven's hand and continues walking anyway. 

Raven scoffs. "Whatever. You can watch me have fun, if that's what you want."

The house Raven leads her to is on the sorority side of the street. Clarke is surprised when Raven knocks because she's not sure anyone already inside will be able to hear it over the music filtering out, but someone does. "Hey," Raven says. "They stick you on door duty?"

"Until 11," the girl says. She's got long brown hair. She's pretty. She rolls her eyes. "Perks of being a pledge."

"Who was that?" Clarke asks as they make their way inside. Raven was right. It is warm in here, and Clarke is immediately almost unbearably hot.

"Octavia? She's in my freshmen seminar. Kind of annoying sometimes, loud, but." Raven shrugs. "She's nice. Her brother's a grad student here."

"Oh." Clarke starts taking off her coat, following Raven through the crowd of people. "Is this like, a private party?"

Raven furrows her eyebrows. "No. Oh my god. They just need to make sure assholes don't get in and mess everything up for everyone. There was a fistfight once, broke an important ceremonial vase or something. Both boys got banned." Someone brushes by Clarke and Raven reaches past her to hit their arm. "Hey! Miller."

The boy in a beanie turns around. "Reyes. You got the cash?"

"I'm not stupid." Raven rolls her eyes.

"No, you're not." He nods his head in the direction they were already heading in, and instead of asking what the hell is happening, Clarke lets Raven grab her hand and tug her after the boy she'd called Miller.

He slides open two wooden doors, and Clarke doesn't know why she's surprised that the room seems to be some kind of library. There are bottles of alcohol sitting on one shelf. Most of it looks cheap -- a lot of UV Blue. Raven drops Clarke's hand to close the doors behind them. "This all seems dramatic," Clarke says.

Miller looks like he almost smiles. "It's more fun that way, though." He looks at Raven. "She good?"

Raven shoots him a look that reads _Really?_ "You buy alcohol and then overcharge for it. What's she gonna do?" A beat. "She's good. I want a bottle of vodka." She reaches into her pocket, unzips her little wallet and pulls out a few bills, counting them before handing them over. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Clarke asks. "Nothing."

"Come on, I'm buying. The mixers are free. And Miller doesn't overcharge me."

"Hey. The sorority deserves their cut," he says.

"I don't want anything," Clarke insists.

Raven brushes her knuckles against Clarke's wrist and leans close. "I'm not saying you have to get drunk. Even if you just want a hard lemonade."

Clarke looks at Raven. She's so pretty, makeup done, hair curled, lipstick dark and purple. Clarke takes a deep breath. "Whatever you're having is fine."

When they leave the room, Raven tells Clarke that most people just get a friend to buy their alcohol for them, but this way she doesn't have to worry about carting anything across campus. And, like Miller, she enjoys the dramatics.

 

 

Clarke thinks it's possible she drank too much too fast. Maybe. A little.

There's something pounding behind her forehead and Raven's got an arm around her waist. Clarke leans into her, not because she's drunk and can't walk, but because it's cold outside and Raven's warm and solid. Raven had helped button up her coat by the door and told her to put her gloves on, eyes bright and wide and mouth quirked up in a way that means she think Clarke is being funny.

"I'm funny," Clarke says, because she's thinking about it. The wind feels freezing and Clarke rubs at her nose. The cotton of her glove itches against her skin and she scrunches up her face. "Ow."

"Very," Raven agrees.

Clarke tries to lean her head on Raven's shoulder but she stumbles. She laughs. "I'm so funny. You think I'm funny."

"And annoying."

She looks at Raven. Her hair has flattened and her lipstick isn't so bright and shiny anymore. Her lips look chapped. Clarke wants to kiss them.

Clarke frowns. She thinks it again: _I want to kiss them_ , just to make sure she does, just to make sure she didn't say it aloud. But Raven doesn't look at her funny or laugh. Clarke doesn't think wanting to kiss Raven is very funny. She curls her fingers into Raven's jacket. "You feel warm," she says.

"I'm not." Raven forcibly turns Clarke toward their dorm. "The wind goes right through this thing. And it's worse now that it's old."

"Do you want my coat?" Clarke asks.

"No. Then you'd be cold." Clarke thinks Raven is speaking slower than usual. She thinks maybe Raven's the drunk one, or drunk, too; then she thinks Raven's just speaking to Clarke like Clarke's dumb.

"I'm not dumb."

Raven's mouth quirks up. "I know, Clarke. You're drunk, though."

"Only a little."

"Whatever you say."

Clarke nods and then yawns around: "Whatever I say."

She knows that her throat feels dry, she has a headache, and she probably drank too much too fast, but she's not _wasted_ , she swears. She tells Raven that: "I'm not wasted, Raven," over and over again until Raven sighs and says, "Yes. I got it the first time." So, no, she could unbutton her coat herself and get into her pajamas and crawl into her own bed and be fine, but she likes the way Raven's fingers fumble over the red buttons of her coat, she likes the way Raven unscrews the cap to one of her water bottles, the snap when the plastic cap breaks away from the ring around its neck, and gives it to her to drink. And she likes that Raven waits by the sink while Clarke pees and then watches her crawl into bed -- so it takes her two tries to successfully hop up there, she's _fine_ \-- before turning off the lights.

Clarke stares at the ceiling. Her sheets feel too warm and she kicks them off. "Thank you," she says after her eyes adjust to the dark.

"I didn't need to explain to your mom that I lost you tonight," Raven says. "I like your mom."

"I like you," Clarke says. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth.

All Raven says to that is: "Go to sleep."

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing Clarke notices when she gets back from winter break is that Raven has stuck up the pictures of Finn again. She's never met him, but something about it makes her stomach twist. "You back together?" she asks, aiming for casual and absolutely missing the mark.

"No." Raven shrugs. "He's still my best friend. Stayed with me last week."

"Right." Clarke nods.

She lifts her suitcase onto her bed and unzips it. She frowns. "I would have come back early. If you told me you were."

"Clarke, it's not that big a deal. I didn't even know I was coming back early. I just couldn't - I just needed to. I emailed the housing director and worked it out."

Clarke takes a shirt out of her suitcase, unfolds it and opens the door to her closet. Every movement feels too precise, like when she hangs the shirt up slowly, making sure the hanger doesn't knock into the empty ones around it. "That's what I'm talking about, Raven. You couldn't _what_? We're friends, right? You can talk to me." She looks at Raven sitting on her bed, laptop over her legs. Raven bites off a piece of the licorice she's holding and chews. "You can talk to me," Clarke repeats, firm and quiet. 

Raven swallows. "I don't want to talk about it, and Finn already knows. I don't have to explain what my mother's like to him."

"Okay." Clarke finishes unpacking and shoves her suitcase under her bed. She unwraps her new history textbook, throws the plastic in the trash and opens it to start reading even though the semester doesn't start for another two days. She can't concentrate. She looks at Raven across the room and she feels far away. Clarke clears her throat and Raven looks at her, wary. "Where did he sleep?" Clarke asks. 

Raven raises an eyebrow. "What, are you jealous?"

Clarke feels herself blush and she shakes her head. "It's just that this is my bed and I'd like to know who sleeps in it."

"It's not even made," Raven points out. "And the mattress belongs to the school.

"That's--" Clarke closes her book, pushes her chair back from her desk and stands up. "We're friends. And I just don't want you to get hurt."

Raven stares at her where she's standing awkwardly in the middle of their small dorm room. Clarke feels stupid and her face still feels too warm. She's about to make an excuse to leave when Raven says: "I know you do. Thank you." 

Clarke sits back down, flips the page even though she doesn't remember anything she's already read. "I'm a little jealous," she whispers, tilting her head and looking up at Raven through her eyelashes.

Raven blinks, smiles slowly, genuine and then cocky. "Figured as much. I'm a catch."

 

 

 

 

 

There are rules to being roommates. Like don't eat each other's food without asking. Clarke is more than willing to let Raven keep Redbull in the mini-fridge even though it's terrible for her and tastes disgusting, but she's not going to drink a bottle of it, or finish the half-can of tuna Raven's stuck in there, just like Raven's not going to eat her grapes or drink her orange juice without asking first. And if she does ask and wants to mix the orange juice with champagne, Clarke will probably say yes. 

An important rule: don't look at each other when they're changing.

Clarke accidentally breaks this one.

Raven's back from the the showers, caddy in hand, towel wrapped around her body. Her hair's wet and twisted on top of her head. Clarke always takes two towels to the shower, wraps her hair in the second. Raven doesn't have a lot of things, and Clarke knows Raven only has that one green striped towel, and sometimes Clarke takes it from the hook on the back of Raven's closet door and washes it without asking.

Clarke's trying to outline an essay at her desk, but then Raven says, "There was no hot water." Raven's looking at her, mouth tilted down.

"Really?" Clarke asks.

"Really." Raven leans down and sets her caddy under her bed. "I'm freezing. If you were planning on showering tonight? Don't."

Raven turns around then, walks to her dresser and pulls open the top drawer. Clarke knows this is her cue to look back at her laptop, look down at the article sitting next to it, already annotated, her notes in the margins. And she does, she looks down at the article and types a sentence after the next roman numeral on her screen.

And then she looks up, accidentally. And Raven's back is there, smooth expanse of skin, notches of her spin, shoulder blades like wings. Clarke feels herself flush and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Guilt washes over her, but she doesn't look away. She watches as Raven's hands work the clasp of her bra, watches as she pulls a shirt over her head, catching briefly on her hair, watches as she cracks her neck. When Raven turns around Clarke looks down, bites hard at her lip until it hurts. She underlines something that doesn't need to be underlined and wills her heart to stop thumping.

"What're you working on?" Raven asks. She's pulled a sweatshirt on and is undoing her bun, hip propped against a bedpost.

"History essay."

"For that TA you have a crush on?" Raven smirks, eyes glinting.

Clarke huffs. "I do not."

"Sure you don't." Raven grabs her brush and starts combing through her hair. She's still focused on Clarke, and it makes Clarke feel awkward and weird. She gulps. Raven's smile grows wider. "When's it due?"

"Monday." Raven raises an eyebrow. "The Monday after next."

Raven makes a noise that seems to catch in the back of her throat, but it sounds triumphant. "Monty and Jasper have weed. I was going to go over there and smoke. Wanna come?"

There's a challenge there. Raven always asks; Clarke always says no. She told Raven once that it was because she doesn't like the smell. That's true, even if Raven shook her head like she didn't believe it and made a crack about Clarke being scared of the police.

"I'm good." Clarke nods, picks up a highlighter and waves it around like that'll prove something. "Busy, even. Thanks for asking though."

"Any time."

When Raven leaves, Clarke exhales and closes her eyes. She absolutely does not think about Raven's back, about splaying her hands over the skin there.

She does think, however fleetingly, that she's a terrible person, and if she believed in God, he'd look at her, deciding whether to send her to heaven or hell, and ask her about the ethics of watching her roommate get dressed. She's not sure that'd be enough to tilt the scales and send her to hell -- Clarke thinks she's usually a good person.

Clarke's also never taking another philosophy class again.

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke wakes up just after 5:30 to her phone vibrating. She squints at the screen and finds an automated message about classes for the day being cancelled due to severe weather. She crawls out of bed, moves the blinds to the side and looks at the snow outside the dorm, layered over the sidewalks. There's about two feet of it.

Last night, Monty and Jasper had insisted they'd get the day off, obsessively looking out the window and checking weather updates about when the storm was supposed to stop. They'd planned to stay up all night playing video games when Clarke and Raven left, despite Clarke telling them not to get their hopes up. She looks forward to bragging about actually getting to enjoy her day off instead of sleeping until noon and then having to spend the night catching up on the homework they didn't do the day before.

But first, she's going back to sleep.

 

 

Clarke wants to curl up in bed and read, but Raven insists they need to go out, so she makes Raven borrow one of her scarves even though Raven tells her she doesn't need it and rolls her eyes a lot.

"I'm not spending the night in the emergency room because you've got frostbite," Clarke says, pushing open the door to their dorm. She expects it to be windy, but it isn't. It's cold, but a still kind of cold.

"On my neck?" Raven asks.

"Shut up." She rubs her lips together, looks around. The sidewalk outside their dorm hasn't been shoveled yet and it takes effort to get through it, picking up her boots and shaking the snow off with each step. "What are we even going to do?"

Raven shrugs. It's easier for her to maneuver because she's just stepping in the spaces Clarke's left behind. "Walk around. Everything's so pretty."

Clarke snorts. "It's like you've never seen snow before or something."

"Relax," Raven says. "Let's go to the practice field."

Clarke waits and lets Raven go first so she can use her footprints until they get to a sidewalk that's already been plowed. Multiple paths intersect through the practice field, presumably from students going to friends' dorms, the cafeteria and their cars. Raven trucks along until she finds a relatively intact patch and then plops down, moving her legs and arms to make a snow angel. Clarke smiles despite herself when Raven lifts her arms straight up in the air and wiggles her fingers.

"Can't ruin my artwork," Raven says when Clarke reaches her, arms still in the air, shit-eating grin on her face.

Clarke shakes her head before pulling her up. Raven crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at the snow. "Not bad for a novice."

Raven scoffs. "I've been doing this forever."

"Sorry." Clarke sticks her hands in her pockets and rocks back on her heels. "Are you done?"

Raven points to a patch of snow next to her angel. "Your turn, Griffin."

"No thanks." Clarke frowns. "I don't want to get my jeans wet."

"If you do it we can go back to the dorm," Raven says. "And I won't get into a snowball fight with you."

"This isn't even packing snow," Clarke points out. Raven just levels her with a look that Clarke has learned means _try me_ , and if anyone could turn what is basically powdered sugar into a firm snowball, Clarke would bet on Raven. "Fine."

She feels stupid when she leans her head back too fast and it hurts, because snow may be soft, but the ground under it is very hard and very frozen. She feels stupid when she starts moving her arms back and forth. And she feels stupid when she realizes she's resurrected a mini wall of snow between her legs and tries to blot it down with the bottoms of her boots. Raven's pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and looks like she's trying not to laugh.

When Clarke's satisfied with her efforts and some snow has gotten under her scarf and coat, melting on the back of her neck and wetting her hair, she holds her hands out for Raven to help her up. Raven pulls and stumbles backwards. With the momentum of it all, Raven leaning back and both girls trying to keep upright, they walk all over Clarke's snow angel.

Raven frowns. "Oops."

Clarke frowns, too. Raven hasn't let go of her hands. "People are going to walk all over them anyway." She tugs, gently trying to get Raven to start walking back the way they came. She wants to take a warm shower, heat up soup in the lounge's microwave, and take a nap even though she slept later than she normally does. Raven doesn't budge, though. "Don't make me do it again."

Raven looks at her, and she looks like she's smiling even though her mouth doesn't curve up.

"What?" Clarke asks. Raven's ponytail is settled over her shoulder and her cheeks are pink, and her mouth is so, so pink. Clarke realizes she's looking at Raven's mouth a second too late. She looks up again. Her palms feel sweaty in her gloves. "Come on. You promised."

She tugs again, and Raven moves this time. Too easily. She knocks into Clarke and she laughs, and Clarke laughs, too.

Then Raven kisses her, swallows the laugh, smiling against Clarke's mouth.

It takes a second, but Clarke kisses her back, their hands locked between their bodies. Clarke squeezes Raven's hands, almost like she's assuring her of something -- that this is okay, maybe, that she wants this, too. Just in case the way her mouth matches the curve of Raven's isn't enough of an indicator.

When Raven pulls back, she says: "You've never been very subtle."

Clarke widens her eyes. "Oh."

She's mortified.

"Well." Raven nods toward the sidewalk. "You're the one who hates the snow so much."

"I don't _hate_ it," Clarke protests.

"It's okay. I can think of a thing or two we can do inside." She raises an eyebrow and smirks. The words sound so much filthier than they actually are.

Clarke can feel herself blush down to her toes.

Raven laughs again and it echoes around them, vibrant and warm.

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke stands before the desk at the front of the room, and Bellamy leans against it, arms crossed over his chest, having too much fun talking about how horrible Cromwell was, taking the trust of the people and turning into the type of leader he claimed to be against. Clarke made the mistake of admitting Cromwell made some mistakes and enjoyed the way Bellamy had scoffed, "some," and now here they are.

"I'm not trying to defend his treatment of certain groups, but he was doing his best," Clarke says.

"Genocidal," Bellamy responds.

"He was no Robespierre, though," Clarke offers. She's not sure exactly what argument she's trying to make -- Bellamy's getting his Ph.D in history and Clarke will probably not take another history class that doesn't have to do with medicine or art in her entire life. She only took this one because he's the TA and she likes the way the vein in his forehead pops when he gets really passionate about her opinions and how _wrong_ he thinks they are.

"Hey," Raven says.

Clarke almost jumps. 

Raven knows Clarke was up until after 3 studying for her anatomy midterm. Raven knows that Clarke's history seminar ends at 2. So it shouldn't surprise her that Raven's standing next to her in the empty lecture hall now, holding out a cup of coffee. "Hey. Thanks."

"Raven," Raven introduces herself. "The girlfriend. And you're right about Cromwell. Robespierre was also a dick, though."

Bellamy's mouth twitches up almost like he wants to smile. "Nice to meet you. Bellamy Blake."

"Oh, you're Octavia's brother."

"The one and only." Bellamy pushes off the desk. "Professor Kane left a bunch of essays for me to grade in the office, so. See you next week, Clarke."

When he leaves the room, Clarke readjusts her bag on her shoulder and takes a sip of her coffee. "You're the best."

"I know." Raven smirks at her. "So, what's it like having a crush on your teacher?"

Clarke chokes mid-sip. "What? I do not."

"It's okay, babe. He's cute."

Raven looks like the cat that ate the canary, and Clarke resolutely ignores her, walking out of the room. "My anatomy midterm went well, in case you were wondering."

"Remember when you took this class as an elective?" Raven jumps in front of her, walking backwards. "It fulfills no credit you actually still need."

"I like arguing with him. That doesn't mean I _like_ him. There's a difference." Clarke clears her throat. "I like you."

"You want to huuuuuuuuug him. You want to kiiiiiiiiiiiss him," Raven sing-songs. When she pauses at the door to the building, Clarke kisses her, bringing her hand up to Raven's cheek.

"Be quiet," Clarke says. "I'm tired."

Raven shrugs, leans against the door to push it open. "I could use a nap."

Clarke smiles. "I was hoping you'd say that."

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke skims over the email residents life sent out about the housing forum for next year. There's a mandatory meeting for freshmen on Sunday. "Hey Raven?"

"What?" Raven doesn't look up from the wire she's splicing. Instead of sitting at her desk, she's on the floor, parts spread out around her in the middle of their room. Clarke has no idea what she's fixing.

"What did you think about housing for next year?"

Raven shrugs. "I don't care. Whatever building you want to go for is fine."

"So," Clarke starts. She presses her mouth together. "You still want to live together?"

Raven looks up now, eyebrows pulled together. There's a smudge of grease on her forehead. "Don't you?"

Clarke nods.

On the phone with Wells the other day, she told him she thinks she's in love with Raven. It had scared her at first. Most things don't scare her. 

But then she'd thought about it: the comfort of knowing. It's nice to have a word for how fond she feels when Raven blasts music Friday nights, shimmying around their room as she gets ready to go out. It's nice to know what the feeling in her gut was when Raven was sick and Clarke smuggled soup out of the cafeteria for her. It's nice to come back to the room -- their room -- after her Tuesday/Thursday 8 AM and crawl in to Raven's bed because she doesn't have class until noon and she's still warm when Clarke's sheet have gone cold.

She hasn't told her yet, wants to keep it to herself for a while. 

She thinks Raven probably already knows anyway.

"I wouldn't want to live with anyone else," Clarke says.

Raven grins at her, rubs at her forehead and leaves another trail of grease. "Me neither."

"It's settled then." Clarke exits out of the email.

She was right.

It's nice being sure.

**Author's Note:**

> I was lurking through the Yuletide letters list, and the simple "College roommates AU" as part of your letter stuck out to me, so I thought I'd try my hand at a treat. I really enjoyed the idea, and I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you like it and Happy Yuletide!


End file.
